Breathe
by Divine-Fayth
Summary: She won't be his by daylight, so he must seek consolation by visiting her bedside every night. If they knew they would be horrified, thinking that he had dishonourable intentions, but all he really wants to do is to watch her breathe.


Breathe.  
  
He moves along the corridor with practised ease, careful not to make a single noise. He knows every creaky floorboard, every step to avoid. He is not concerned that he is passing under lit torches, in clear view of open doors -he trusts in his Invisibility Cloak to hide his movements.  
  
No, the problem is not sight but sound. There were many close calls in the beginning, when this route was still new to him. There were times when he had to hold his breath near to bursting as a teacher walked straight past, mere inches from where he was standing. But as the nights grew longer he learned the art of silence, learned how to avoid the cacophony of sound that most people created simply by living, breathing, and by walking. Sometimes he imagines that he can even cause his heart to beat silently in the cage of his chest, simply by willing it.  
  
But of course, his heart is never truly silent. For in truth it is his heart that has led him to make this journey so many times, to tread the same route over and over.  
  
All he wants is to see her. It sounds so simple a desire, but it is this that has caused him so many near disasters over the years. If he were found here, not a single soul would believe that he had the most honourable of intentions in watching her. No, they would view his nightly visits with disgust and be unable to imagine that he could possibly have anything less than obscene reasons for hiding in the shadows.  
  
If they knew, he would never be permitted to visit her like this. So he must creep silently up to her dormitory at night, feet gliding over the smooth steps and his hand hovering just above the railing in case he slips. He will not slip. He has walked this path so many times that it has become burned deep into his brain, and he has made it his own. If necessary he can find his way in total darkness, navigating only by touch, sound, and the sweet smell of cinnamon that always lingers near her bed.  
  
A few steps further, and he has reached his destination. He stops directly in front of her bed, and gazes in wonder at the beautiful creature lying there. Her skin looks pale in this dim light, but perfect nonetheless. So pale, like a perfect marble statue of a Greek goddess. But the gentle sound of her breathing marks her as more than a lifeless statue, and he listens carefully to each breath. In. Out. This he has done so many times, perfecting his camouflage of soundlessness. In. Out. He times his breathing to exactly match her own, letting her soft noises cover his. For this is the true secret to silence- not to merely be quiet, but to let your own noise fit in perfectly with the surroundings. He finds it so easy now, and he finds that his chest will rise and fall in perfect pace with her own, without him even having to think it.  
  
He kneels down at the foot of her bed, his loving gaze still fixed firmly on her.  
  
It is almost like an addiction. He knows that he should not be here, but he also knows that he must see her. On the rare few nights that he does not visit, sleep is difficult to find and, when found, it is filled with nightmares and memories that would be better left behind. He aches to see her, to do nothing more than to simply gaze upon her wondrous face, so innocent in her sleep. She is as an unknowing angel, sent to soothe his mind by simply being.  
  
But perhaps his breathing was slightly out of sync; the angel stirs, turning over restlessly, her lips forming words that he cannot read. He watches her with clear devotion as her long lashes flicker, and he wonders who she is dreaming about. Then whatever disturbance there was appears to have dissipated, and she settles once more.  
  
She is his drug, his alcohol, his ecstasy. He can think of nothing but her, nothing but the few minutes he can steal each night to watch over her in her sleep. He does not know why she has such a hold over him, but he still returns every single night. Seeing her lying there, her perfect mouth curved into a shadow of a smile as she dreams, he feels as though she is truly his. No one has ever observed her with such loving care, he is sure- he knows her every mannerism as she sleeps, and this is a part of her that only he will ever own.  
  
Only he will ever be able to recognise her so perfectly in the darkness, just by listening for the sound of her breath. She will not belong to him by the hours of daylight, and so he must seek his consolation by night.  
  
He must go soon, he knows. He is already losing too many hours of sleep, and there is Quidditch practice in the morning. In the past, he has given into the temptation and slept here, by her side- but experience has taught him to be cautious. While sleeping it is all too easy for a cloak to slip from a body, and expose it for all to see without the protection of its invisibility. Or a dorm-mate might stumble upon his concealed form, or he might remain asleep for far too long and miss lessons. He would be willing to risk all of these to simply be here with his beloved were it not for the fact that, if discovered, he would no doubt be kept from ever coming here again. And the thought of never seeing her like this again is more than he can bear.  
  
No, he must leave soon, before the sun shows its head and complicates life once more. But for now, he is content to simply kneel here and listen to her breathe. 


End file.
